SUNNY CAL JOURNAL - Days Of Tears 9-11

(09/12/2017)

By Bob Weaver/Sept. 16, 2001

A week has past since the first person told me on the Calhoun courthouse steps about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center, with more to come.

What a week it has been for all Americans who believe in our great democracy and its visions of freedom and justice. It has been difficult to think of much else, trying to move ahead with daily routines, important as they may be.

I have listened and talked with several hundred Calhouners, many for the first time in a long while.

I have looked into the faces of our children at our local schools, wondering what is going through their minds.

I have gone to church and tried to work on my faith.

I have gone to football games, disconnected with who wins or looses.

I have stood at the grave of my father and wondered what he would say about this.

I have attended a candlelight prayer vigil on a hill above Grantsville with my people, Calhoun people.

I have attended the funeral of one of our oldest citizens and historians, Bernard McDonald, who died one day before the attack.

I have been obsessed with TV news and reading newspapers.

I have heard my youngest son ask, like nearly all the Weavers before him, "Dad, should I join the army?

I have looked into the picture of my grandson Riley, and questioned his future. I have felt the need to be closer to my children.

I have felt closer to Dianne, our life's journey together.

I have propped myself on a Husk Ridge rock and listened to several young people nervously make jokes about war.

I have prayed for the families of those who have lost loved ones.

I have taken rides in my old truck around the Joker Ridge, looking at the woods, hills and hollers.

The most bothersome occurrence has been the spontaneous collapse of my nervous system, driving down the road and breaking into uncontrollable crying.

It has been embarrassing when I have done it before people, like one of my elderly aunts who wept into her hanky at the mere mention of a touching word.

Maybe it is early dotage.

There is much to cry about.

Surely tears drop from my eyes for our children, our grandchildren and those yet to be born.

It is the fear they may not know the America we have known with its bountifulness, freedoms and opportunities, their feelings of safety and security diminished.

It is the fear they might loose hope, their visions and dreams removed.

It is the fear of death and destruction, acts of war.

It is fear of the suffering brought to the innocent on our own soil.

It is the fear of what we may do to others in the world, who will be caught up in the affray.

It is the fear our leaders will make the wrong decisions.

I know at this moment I need help from the highest of powers, to help me believe and give my family, friends and community the faith to endure the darkness.

God, help us through this troubling time.


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